Carte Blanche
by straitjackit
Summary: What if they didn't enter Narnia? What if they went home before taking their rightful places? The Pevensies can not run from their destiny...
1. Into The Forest

Title: Carte Blanche  
Summary: They would never know what life could have been like... AU LWW.  
Notes: A 'what if?' fic, regarding the Pevensies arrival in Narnia. What if they missed that opportunity? What if they had never gone? Probably a couple of chapters long. Movie-verse, except the kids didn't break a window. They were just loitering. And remember – football is what Americans call soccer. :D  
Disclaimer: See profile.

* * *

Chapter 1 

The children looked at the crossroads, aware that a decision had to be made fast, but they were afraid to do so. For each moment they lingered, the steps of the Macready came closer, carrying with them the threat of scolding, beating, being kicked out into the wild... The children had only been running around the house and come across a group of visitors, but the old housekeeper preferred the children to be out of sight. As a result, the children were blowing things out of proportion.  
Peter cursed in his head. He hated to take the lead, but it appeared that he had no choice in this situation. Just as he was about to run down one of the corridors, Susan made a decision.

"This way!" she whispered, running in the opposite direction to that which Peter would have taken. He caught up with her and gave her a questioning glance. She smiled slightly.

"That way leads to the wardrobe, and I for one would rather avoid having these two fighting."

Peter smiled in return and nodded. A wise decision. Now that he thought about it, why hadn't he realised that as well? He'd been avoiding that corridor all week.

_But it felt right, _he thought, turning a corner. _Almost as if someone was calling me..._

Shaking his head as the children reached the back door, they all ran outside and into the woods surrounding the house. After they were a good way in, the four stopped and collapsed to the floor, panting for breath. The older two siblings weren't so tired, as they were faster runners than either Edmund or Lucy but had kept behind them in order to herd them.  
After a few minutes, Peter sat up and grinned.

"Well, I say," the oldest Pevensie said. "That was a fair adventure."

"That was no adventure," Edmund growled. "That was just a stupid excuse to get us to exercise!"

Edmund was not fond of his exercise at school and invented a new ailment each week to avoid his lessons. This never stopped him playing football during breaks, though.

"Honestly, Ed. If you believe that, you're more of a brat than I previously thought," Peter replied, returning the fierce glare the younger boy was sending his way with a look of pity.

"Oh, just bugger off!" Edmund snarled, getting up and running away into the woods. Susan started to rise to her feet, but Peter shook his head.

"Let him be for a while, Su. He won't get hurt, will he?"

"Peter," Lucy said quietly, getting up and sitting next to her brother. She looked around the woods in fear and clutched her brother's arm tightly. "I'm scared."

Susan smiled and moved to sit behind Lucy, pulling her into a hug that Peter quickly joined.

"Not to worry, Lucy. We'll be able to go back into the house soon, I promise."

With that, the three sat in each others' arms, content to remain that way until they could return to the dark halls of the house, all the time unaware of the fourth figure sitting in a tree, sobbing as he watched.

_Carte Blanche_

To say the children were happy to be returning home was an understatement. While each would miss something about the country house and its strange occupants, they were all relieved to go home to their mother and grandmother, with their father returning from the war a few days later. Lucy was dancing around their luggage, a look of glee on her face as she kept trying to pull Edmund in with her. He couldn't resist the infectious smile, but he could bloody well keep himself from dancing!

A little way off, Peter and Susan were thanking the Professor on behalf of them all (as the younger children had once again forgotten their manners).

"A trivial matter, my dears. I must make some pretense at helping with the war effort, after all."

The two children smiled and started to walk towards their siblings, when Susan suddenly turned around and gave the Professor a hug. He smiled down upon her and patted her head as a father would his child.

"Thank you, my child. Be sure to write."

Susan stepped back and nodded, then ran to her siblings as they were leaving the house. Lucy waved enthusiastically before running to the cart. She simply adored the lovely horse!  
The Professor waved back at the empty doorway, a sad smile on his face. The children had taken everything with them, but he felt that there was something left unfinished. As he did in times of confusion, he headed towards his place of solitude. It happened to be the same room in which Lucy had found the wardrobe leading to a land of snow and magical creatures, but the Professor did not know that anyone else had entered.

As he opened the door and saw the sheet on the floor, he gasped.

The wardrobe had been a rich, deep mahogany, beautiful carvings adorning the doors and its sleek walls glistened in the light. The solid, sturdy structure had been admirable and its presence had always filled the room, drawing attention to it, but no more.  
Now, the wardrobe looked dull, seeming to drain the room of colour and light. The doors seemed too big for the frame, the carvings faded into the wood and no longer the clear, crisp, inspiring images they had been. It seemed small and insignificant, not to mention _cold._ The Professor didn't know how he came to the conclusion, but he knew what had caused the drastic change.

_They did not go to Narnia._

At that realisation, the old man, a Digory Kirke, fell to the floor and cried.

* * *

I know this chapter is pretty short, but I'm just setting the scene! It will get better, I promise. I have many things in store for the Pevensies. 

Review?

Yours,  
Straitjackit.


	2. Edmund And The Wardrobe

Dedication to H Max Marius, for the amazing ideas. That was certainly interesting to read! Sorry if I haven't replied to reviews, my email isn't working and I'm not sure how to do it on I'm a little computer illiterate. Heh heh…  
'Thoughts in single quotes'_. Flashbacks in italicsCarte Blanche _represents a break, or change of scene (as I can't get the breaks to work properly).

Note: Flashback and thought styles edited, as H Max Marius pointed out it was hard to read. Thanks for the suggestion, dude!

* * *

Chapter 2

The stars shone down upon the small town of Finchley, occasionally obscured by passing clouds. A chilling breeze made its way through the streets, working its way into cracks in an attempt to chill the town's occupants. The effort appeared futile, until it found one open window and jumped at the chance to enter the home, stealing the warmth from the air inside and wrapping itself around the child in the room. He had already been subjected to the same treatment for most of the night, but he refused to get up and close the window – he was glad for the numb feeling the breeze brought him. It gave him something to think about other than the problem he had with his sister.

Edmund reached for the clock beside his bed, sighing. He hadn't slept in the three nights since they had returned home and the effects of his insomnia were catching up on him. Finding that it was still an ungodly hour, he turned over and groaned.

'Why can't it just be morning?_' _He grumbled mentally. He had discovered that by keeping himself busy, he could avoid thinking at all – playing football, searching for scraps of bombs, doing chores…

_Carte Blanche_

"_We're going to Camden, so we'll be gone for the day," Helen Pevensie said distractedly, as she flattened down her skirt. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd picked out that particular one, as it never sat quite right. "Do be sure to look after you brother and sisters, will you Peter?"_

_The oldest child nodded, slightly concerned. He'd been at odds with his brother for a few days and was concerned by the prospect of being left alone with him and the girls. Sighing mentally, he gave his mother a weak smile, who returned it with a kind, knowing gaze. She turned to Lucy and gave her a hug, promising her a new hair ribbon before the sound of a horn blared through the house. Anthony Pevensie wanted his wife to get in the car before he had to come back with the umbrella and was growing frustrated. Didn't she think the children were old enough to be alone for a few hours?_

_Helen rolled her eyes._

"_Always impatient," she muttered under her breath, patting Susan on the head before running out of the door, fixing her hat. Edmund, who had been hiding on the staircase, made his way down and glared at the door._

'Thanks, mother dearest,'_ he thought sarcastically. It hurt him that neither parent had said goodbye, even though they were only out for the day, but he ignored the pain by fixing a scowl on his face and making a sandwich in the kitchen. Just as he finished making his meal, Peter entered and took it from him, placing it in a cupboard out of the smaller child's reach._

"_You've only eaten breakfast an hour ago," Peter scolded. Edmund glared._

"_I'm a growing boy."_

_Peter ignored the ironic retort (Peter often used the same sentence to get Edmund to eat his vegetables. Needless to say, it never worked)._

"_We're going to the park for a while. Will you be coming with us?" he asked instead._

_Edmund considered the offer for a moment. Spend a couple of hours in the house by himself, allowing him to do whatever he wanted, or waste it by going with his siblings and being miserable?_

"_I'm good," he replied after a while. The blonde brother shrugged then returned to the living room to round up his wayward sisters._

_Edmund broke into a huge grin when he saw Lucy close the front gate. He had the house all to himself! Oh, the things he could do! Read Susan's diary, hide Lucy's favourite teddy bear, play with the magnificent tin soldier Peter had received for his 13th birthday… _

_Edmund thought of many a nasty trick to play on his siblings, along with more pleasant and normal tasks, but he soon realised that many of his tricks were not worth the punishment he would receive, and all his other games required more than one person._

_Grumbling under his breath, he went to his room and flung himself onto his bed. After a few minutes of fighting with his bed-sheet for space supremacy (the sheet won), he let out a little growl and slipped onto the floor. He eyed his bedroom in distaste. He'd gotten his own room when his father decided Peter needed to focus on his studies without the distraction of his brother, but as a result Edmund now lived in what closely resembled a bog. Books were strewn over the hard-board floor, mixed with miniature soldiers, animals and various articles of clothing. An empty box of Turkish Delight peeked out from beneath his bed, which was surrounded by outrageously large dust balls and three kinds of mould. An unidentifiable object was hidden beneath his school satchel in one corner of his room, though Edmund often suspected that it was, in fact, the football he had lost in a quarry a few months ago and Peter may have jumped into wet cement to regain._

_Edmund didn't really like living in filth or being told off by his mother. He was simply too busy picking on Lucy or going out with his friends (which resulted in picking on other small children)._

"_Right then," he muttered, rolling his sleeves up. "Where does Mother keep the soap?"_

_Carte Blanche_

_Peter, Susan and Lucy returned a few hours later, all rather muddy and laughing. It had been fun at the park, despite the sudden downpour of rain. None of them had paid attention to their parents when they had been talking about the weather – why would they?_

"_And the frog!" Lucy giggled, waving her hands wildly. She made a tripping gesture and laughed louder as she saw her brother turn red._

"_It wasn't that funny…" Peter said, barely suppressing his own laughter._

"_You're a dreadful liar, Peter," Susan added her own thoughts as she hung up her coat. "It really was a most spectacular dive into the puddle… I say, was the fireplace always that colour?"_

_The other two children turned to see what Susan was staring at and gasped. The living room was quite literally _sparkling_. The fireplace, formerly a black colour, similar to the soot that clogged up the chimney, was now a beautiful oak gleaming in the sunlight. The mantelpiece shined, polished to perfection, and even the broken glass in the photograph of their father was perfectly clean. The sofa had been moved back into place (as a tussle between Peter and Edmund for a beautiful toy car had moved it backwards the night before and no one had moved it to its original position). In short, the room looked brand new._

_Lucy shrank into herself, clutching Susan's hand._

"_You don't think Mum and Dad are home, do you? They'll be frightfully angry."_

_Susan's bewildered look vanished as she reassured her sister._

"_Of course not, Lu. The car isn't out front. But, that means…"_

_Susan raised her head as her younger brother walked out of the kitchen, broom in hand and covered in dirt, staring at his siblings in shock._

"…_Edmund cleaned the house?" Peter asked no one in particular. The three by the door watched Edmund, whose face was turning an interesting shade of purple._

_Carte Blanche_

Edmund had promptly snapped at his siblings for getting the front hall dirty again, and had also groused when they got the credit for cleaning the house (he didn't bother trying to tell his parents that he had done it – they'd never believe him anyway). He had then shut himself in his room and ignored the calls from his family for dinner.

Edmund continued to stare at the clock wistfully. His anger had subsided quickly, as it always did, leaving him feeling empty and afraid of himself. Each time his thoughts, his anger, lapsed, his mind wandered to the night he could have followed his sister into the wardrobe, but didn't.

'Why do I feel as though I've done something awful?'

_Carte Blanche_

_Edmund had woken up with a desperate need to relieve his bladder, and had barely made it in time (not that he would admit that to anyone). Once he had finished up, he left the toilet and come across his sister, Lucy, walking the corridors with a candle. Curious, he decided to follow her. If nothing else, he would at least have another opportunity to rub her silliness in her face._

_Edmund wrapped his flannel dressing gown tighter around his form, in an attempt to keep out the cold. While he was fond of the frosty side of nature, he found it to add to the eerie nature of the hallways and it scared him slightly._

_After a short walk, Edmund found that Lucy had returned to the wardrobe room. Smiling to himself, he entered the room and made his way to the intimidating closet, formulating his plan of attack._

"_Luuu-cy," he called softly, trying to scare her. He crept along the floor, hand slowly rising to meet the handle of the wardrobe, when a strange feeling ran down his spine. He paused, hand still hovering in mid-air, almost touching the golden doorknob. He knew, on some deeper level, that to open the door would change his life forever, and he wasn't prepared to take such a step._

_He backed away quickly, almost running out of the room and nearly letting loose a scream as he bumped into something warm._

'Please, not a monster…'

_Turning around quickly, he found himself face to face with Peter._

"_What do you think you're doing?"_

_Edmund licked his dry lips, taking deep breaths to calm himself. How could he be silly enough to think it could have been a fiend?_

"_Just going to the bathroom."_

"_It's that way," Peter said, jerking his thumb backwards. The look of mild irritation had yet to leave his features. Edmund fought the urge to poke his tongue out._

"_I must have gotten lost," he said, moving around Peter and making his way back to the bathroom. He heard Peter follow him a short way before taking the detour to their bedroom, and when Peter was out of earshot, Edmund let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. A patter of feet passed him and he heard Lucy yell something at Peter, the strange feeling returning in full force. His skin was covered in goose-bumps and his breathing became shallower._

_Just what had he avoided when he ran away?_

_Carte Blanche_

Edmund subconsciously pulled his covers up around him.

The first rays of the sun started to peak over the horizon, banishing the chills of the night. The frosty breeze retracted its hand from the room, releasing its grip on the child for the time being and leaving him to bask in the morning. In the distance, he could hear a blackbird sing a melodious song and allowed it to lull him to sleep.

After all, it was such a beautiful song.

* * *

Methinks this one dragged slightly, but it all needed to be said and it needed to be said _now_. So, it's established – Lucy has been to Narnia (twice), but none of the others have. Oh dear, what could it possibly mean? (evil grin)

Review?

Yours,

Straitjackit.


	3. Back On This Side Of The Door

The first flashback is partially lifted from the Disney film, the second is partially lifted from the book and the film. Remember – _flashback scenes are separated from the rest of the text by scene breaks - **--...O...--. **Thoughts are in italics._

_**AN: Quick note about the quill Ed's got on his desk. The one thing I really remember that seemed odd from a day trip pretending to be an evacuee in World War 2 (which I briefly mentioned in Follow The Leader, I believe) was that we wrote with quills and ink. I remember it clearly because I can now do it fairly well, but at the time I went through several pages and a pile of blotting paper. D**_

As always, big thanks to H Max Marius – you guys should too. Without his input and nudging, this wouldn't be up today. I'm great at procrastinating!

_Chapter 3_

_Another rainy day_, Peter sighed as he looked out the window, air blown hard from his nostrils.

Nearly every day since they had returned home, be it cloud-filled skies or sun to rival Mexico, there had been heavy downpours at random intervals.

Contrary to popular belief, England wasn't a land of rain during the summer months, and so many insane theories had been coming out of the woodwork. Some even suggested that the Germans were using blimps to drop acid down on the unsuspecting Londoners and poison them all slowly.

Peter chuckled slightly as he recalled the reaction from a shopkeeper as one of his younger#

customers came to collect his rations and had begun talking about it.

"See t'at t'ere stump, Jack?" he had said, waving his beefy arms at what had formerly been a lamp post many years before. "I reckons t'at it woulda melted, 'long wiv all t'a buildin's round t'ese parts. T'at t'ere concreet 'as been t'ere fer fifty years, I reckons, and it's nout worse fer wear t'en w'en it wos put t'ere. Now, t'e stories I could tell ya 'bout 'ow dem folks tinks it got t'at way..."

Peter's enjoyment of the memory subsided as he recalled the eerie feeling he'd gotten from the lamp post stub. He'd been about to touch it as he'd walked past, but a voice very much like the one that had begged him to head towards the wardrobe back in the countryside had stopped him from doing so.

He shook his head to clear out the thoughts. There was no need to think about such things.

As a result of the rain and their mother's paranoia over the rumours of German wickedness, the children hadn't left the house much and had been restricted to playing indoors. Initially, their return home was fun, the strange familiarity of surroundings they hadn't seen in six months adding an air of mystery to their old games. Unlike at the manor, it didn't matter how loud they got when playing increasingly destructive games. However, after a short time the excitement at being home, where they felt safe and warm, had disappeared. In its place, a odd blankness, as cold as ice, had taken up residence in their minds and affected them in everyday pursuits. None of them could remain focused for long, and Peter had noted that each of his siblings had become restless. Even Lucy was currently rooting around under her own bed, desperately searching for a non existent board game, instead of pestering her big brother to play forts with her. Edmund had stormed out with his raincoat to visit their aunt a few streets away (Peter had noted that, despite his insistence, Edmund really had grown attached to little Eustace), and Susan was... somewhere in the house.

Peter decided to be honest with himself.

_I just want the rain to stop. _He knew that later he would likely regret thinking such a thing, but at that precise moment, it summed up his annoyance quite nicely.

_What I wouldn't give for a trip to the cinema,_ he thought bitterly, silently cursing the Germans for destroying so many homes and lives.

Pulling at his hair in frustration, he got up and went upstairs. Curious, he took a moment to pause and peer into his brother's room. He and the girls had told their parents that it was Edmund who had cleared up, but the boy was being so moody that no one brought it back up.

Peter was startled.

What had once been reminiscent of the disaster marring the landscape outside now looked like something Peter often saw in those odd little adverts that popped up in newspapers before the war. In place of the pile of clothes that so often littered the bottom of the oak wardrobe was a row of perfectly polished shoes; schoolbooks were piled neatly on a matching desk, the few scraps of paper and a overused quill settled on top; a battalion of tin soldiers (made in England, of course) were lined on his windowsill, a matching cannon pointed out of the window "to ward off invaders", as he would say (a lucky charm Peter thought might have something to it – their neighbourhood had gotten off pretty lightly). Even the wicker basket had been pushed out of sight to make the tidy bedroom ("Has he actually made his bed!") more presentable.

A soft smile appeared over his face as he saw something poking out of the top. He walked further in, looking down at the pale green lid of an empty box of Turkish Delight. It was slightly too big to fit into the basket, so it laid on top at a strange angle, half of the hexagon sitting in the basket while the rest stuck out in the air.

"A present from Uncle Albert," he muttered, resisting the urge to pick it up. Why did he have continued urges to pick up seemingly random objects? Lucy's handkerchief, left on the kitchen table; a baby robin that had fallen out of it's nest, and now this...

Edmund had received the confectionery just before rationing started as a birthday present from their uncle and he had been surprisingly generous. The sticky sweets had lasted a good few months, the final being eaten the night before they were sent to the country.

Peter frowned.

"Why does everything go back to that house? Every time I think about it, that wardrobe pops into my head..."

He remembered the night he caught Edmund out in the corridors...

_**--...O...--**_

Peter turned over, slightly grateful that he had awoken. His dreams of Edmund conversing with a strange, eerily pale woman and munching on the same box of sweets they'd finished only a few nights before had felt somehow wrong. Something about the woman had chilled Peter to the bone, though as each moment passed by, he began to forget what it was.

Blearily, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, taking a moment to gather his bearings. Usually, he would wake up completely alert at any time, be it morning or during the night, not needing any time to come to grips with being upright and awake. For some reason, this evening he felt his eyelids droop back down, trying to send him back to sleep. He felt warm, almost like soaking in a bath or lying in the grass on a summer's afternoon, but he shook his head, double checking what he thought he saw.

Yes, Edmund wasn't in bed.

Grumbling something about little brothers and trouble, he got up and threw his nightgown on, tying the belt as he left the room. He looked to his left, only to see the bathroom door was open.

_Odd_, he thought. _Where could he have gone?_

A whisper echoed from down the hall, too faint to clearly hear what was being said. Peter thought it might be the wind, but he shrugged it off and went down the hall, instinctively knowing that he was heading towards that awful wardrobe. It had been the cause of too many problems...

He froze in front of the door, hand hovering above the handle. A sense of foreboding filled his being – he shouldn't be here, not now. Was he doing something wrong? Should he just head back to his room?

Before he had the chance to make the decision, a bundle of blue ran into him, nearly falling over. Peter jumped, but quickly regained his cool as he recognised his little brother.

"What do you think you're doing?" Peter asked sternly. Edmund licked his lips, looking relieved.

_Perhaps we both had a fright..._

"Just going to the bathroom," he replied, an obvious lie. The older boy fought the urge to give Edmund a slap around the head, instead choosing to indicate the direction of the bathroom.

"It's that way," he snapped. Edmund rolled his eyes, a scowl forming on his face.

"I must have gotten lost!" With that sarcastic reply, Edmund shouldered his way past Peter, heading in the direction of the bathrooms. Not exactly believing his brother, Peter followed close behind to ensure that the bathroom was where he went. When he was satisfied that his sibling was indeed in the toilet, Peter entered his room and collapsed onto his bed, eyes closed. He managed to pull the quilt over him and prepared to go back to sleep.

Only moments later, Lucy bounded in and jumped on him.

"Peter! Peter! Wake up! Peter, wake up, it's there! It's really there!"

He rolled over, eyes tightly shut against the suddenly bright room. He didn't have a chance to adjust to the blinding lights as his quilt was pulled from him.

"Lucy, what are you talking about?"

"Narnia! It's all the wardrobe, like I told you!" She remained oblivious to Edmund and Susan entering the room until Susan began to scold her.

"You must have been dreaming, Lucy."

"But I haven't!" the youngest exclaimed, a wide smile on her face. "I saw Mr Tumnus again, and this time..."

Lucy trailed off, frowning. Peter sat up, concerned. She'd never trailed off like that before.

"Lucy?"

She sat down, looking confused. "I... For some reason, I thought Edmund came too... But, I know he didn't..."

She turned to look at her brother.

"Edmund?"

Edmund shrugged, scowled and laid on his bed, turning his back to his siblings and pulling his quilt up to his chin, tucking it in under his neck. A few moments later, he curled up into a ball.

"Come on, Lucy," Susan said, sticking out a hand. "Let's go back to bed. You must have been dreaming."

Lucy took the proffered hand, still looking confused.

"But... It can't have been a dream..."

Peter watched them leave, a sad smile on his face.

'Poor Lucy, she has always had such an active imagination...'

He stood up to turn the light out, but not before he came to a realisation. Turning to face his brother, jaw clenched with suppressed rage, he hissed.

"Is that what you were up to? You were encouraging her, weren't you!"

He received no response.

_**--...O...--**_

He stalked out of the room, the anger returning. Edmund had gotten worse since that day, but at least now he simply ignored Lucy rather than encouraging her. Throwing his own bedroom door open, Peter stormed inside and slammed it shut. He leaned backwards for a moment, closing his eyes. There wasn't really any reason to get angry; he couldn't change the past.

_Perhaps if I have a word with him later..._

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off the wall and went to walk to his desk when he paused, and looked around.

"What the bloody hell-?"

_**--...O...--**_

It had been a quiet day for Susan, who had chosen to practise her knitting. Helen had taught all her children the art, but only Su had found it slightly interesting. In the grey, watery light coming through the bedroom window, she had settled on the borrowed kitchen chair where she did all her knitting. Attempting to cheer herself up, she hummed a small tune as she resumed work on the hat she was making for Peter's perpetually cold ears.

She paused for a moment to take a look at her handiwork and frowned. The disgusting shade of brown still wasn't enough to distract her from the growing lump on the left of the hat; she'd never been able to get both halves to match properly. The cross pattern she had attempted to make had merged together into an interesting knot that even the deftest fingers would fail to untie, and a hole near the middle of the material finally convinced her that perhaps she didn't have much as skill in knitting as she would like to.

As a rare sign of defeat, she momentarily slumped her shoulders and settled the needles and wool on the table.

Lucy had been in the room a short while ago rooting around underneath her bed, getting covered in dust in the process. She ran out, her prize clutched to her now grey chest, dust bunnies clinging precariously to her hair as she went to commandeer the kitchen table. No doubt by now it would be covered in several types of cloth, her doll's new haircut likely hideous and knotted with string and ribbon. Or perhaps the poor thing had a crown, made from errant twigs snapped off the washing basket.

Susan glared at the mass of wool, sitting innocently on the tabletop.

"Perhaps I should have waited until we could get another colour..." she muttered, removing the needles from the brown pile and depositing the mess into a drawer, ready to be untangled later on.

She then leant back in her chair, looking out of the window idly.

"I wonder what the dear Professor is doing."

_**--...O...--**_

The day after Lucy claimed to have returned to Narnia, Peter and Susan went to speak with the Professor. They were both worried that she was losing her mind, and not just barmy as they had joked.

"He'll write to Father if he thinks there is really something wrong with Lu," said Peter. "It's getting beyond us."

They knocked on the door, and the Professor allowed them in.

"I'm quite at your disposal," he said as they took a seat on the chairs in front of his desk.

"It's our sister, sir, Lucy," Susan began, playing with the hem of her skirt. The Professor merely nodded as he picked up his pipe, stuffing it with tobacco.

"She thinks she's found a magical land in the upstairs wardrobe."

The old man lifted his head, surprise and shock flitting across his features. "Really?" he asked, motioning for her to continue.

"Lucy thinks she's found a forest," Peter sighed, hands folded in his lap. "It's like talking to a lunatic; she won't listen to reason."

The Professor raised an eyebrow. "You don't believe her?"

"You do?" Susan asked, shocked by such an idea. This respectable man, believing such nonsense?

"One only has to look at her to see she is not a lunatic, my dear. So what is left? Does your sister lie often?"

"Well, no-"

"So why do you not believe her?"

"Edmund said she was lying," Peter replied instantly, but confusion crossed his features as he said it. Susan suddenly felt empty, almost depressed, and more than a little frightened – hadn't Lucy done a similar thing the previous night?

"Edmund never said that. He called her barmy, teased her, but-"

"Lucy said he went into the wardrobe with her last night!"

"And then she said he didn't," Susan pointed out, her fear growing. This was an odd conversation, and she knew that something was wrong. Peter was right – Edmund shouldhave gone into the wardrobe, somehow she knew that. But he didn't.

"Logic!" the Professor interrupted. "Why don't they teach logic at these schools? Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn't tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth."

He shooed them out, ignoring further protests and closed the door. Susan turned to Peter.

"Why did you say that?"

He shrugged, looking as lost as she was. "I honestly thought for a moment he had. I fear this madness might be contagious."

With that, he wandered off, hand to his forehead as if trying to hold a headache at bay. Susan watched after him, lost in her own thoughts. She too had felt what Peter had said was correct, even though she knew it wasn't. What made her think that?

_What have we done?_ she though in horror.

At that moment, the door opened and the Professor stepped out, surprised to find Susan still in front of the door.

"Would you care for some hot chocolate?"

_**--...O...--**_

Since their return, Susan had written several letters to the kindly old man who looked after them, but had received none in reply. To begin with she had thought that perhaps the post wasn't running properly, but a letter from their cousin in Wales disproved her theory. She then assumed he must be very busy, but he had promised to reply the second he read one, and he really didn't seem like the kind of person to lie.

Her current theory was that something bad had happened to the Professor, encouraged by news of strange events occurring nationwide.

"'M tellen yu, thare's ah beeg ol fis' down een tha rivur, n' it 'as t'ree 'eads! T'ree!" one old man at the fishmongers had been claiming.

"A whole herd of pigs just jumped out of the well? Where did they come from?" she had heard from a woman sitting behind her on a bus a few days before.

"All ma sheep died!" a farmer had been lamenting in a pub on the corner. She passed him to talk to her father, but on her way out she heard the same man still talking.

"Funny thing, yu know. All ma goats, they're all right as rain. Breeding like no one's business."

_It's possible that something has happened to him, though I do hope it hasn't._

She was about to get up and fetch a drink from the kitchen when she heard the faintest shriek come from the next room.

"Peter?"

_End chapter 3_

The twig/Lucy thing is real – me and my aunt used to do it when we were Lucy's age. Though I don't think my mum knew till the basket was wrecked... (Please don't let her read this...!)

Hopefully, I'll get at least up to chapter 5 up before the 4th of September (when I go to college to do my A levels), but as you can already guess – I'm not promising nothing. ) Sorry. I do promise, however, that my arse isn't going to move from this kitchen chair till it's finished, though... Except to sleep and to get my results for my GCSE's. D

Sorry for the wait, and please review! I promise no more annoying author's note unless it's important! Also, sorry - the rulers aren't working for some reason... (pout)

Yours,

Straitjackit.


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